The Map Read Online Free PDF Page B

The fifth step on the map brought us into the towers bordering the castle. We were inside what Jackaby called the “curtain wall,” the castle ’ s first line of defense. It was stark and utilitarian, but the architect had tucked occasional accents into the brickwork. Little cherubs with chipped wings hung about here and there, and accents of stone leaves carved along the interior walls echoed the living ivy of the exterior. In the chamber before us, three iron cannons had been bricked into place with heavy mason stones. The base of each cannon was completely encased, blocking access to the gunpowder chambers, rendering them essentially useless. They stood immobile, aimed out of three openings only slightly larger than the weapons ’ muzzles.
    “Jackaby,” I said, “how much do you know about Patrick Fleming?”
    “Not a great deal,” he admitted, running a finger along a groove in the masonry. “Just the basic story. Shibboletta’s
Songs, Sagas, and Survivals
includes a short chapter on the man. Why?”
    “He was human, right? Just a highwayman?”
    “That’s the general consensus.”
    “Then how did he do all this? The enchanted garden, the cursed hare—an entire castle erected on the far side of the Atlantic? Quite a feat for a mortal man to pull off on his way to the gallows.”
    Jackaby frowned. “That’s an excellent question, Miss Rook.”
    We walked along the top of the wall to the next tower, which was identical to the first. I pulled out the map and examined the miniature version of the castle. Each tower surrounding the central keep was marked with the same simple symbol: a teardrop.
    “What do you suppose we ’ re meant to do here?” I asked. “Cry?”
    Jackaby frowned. “The bucket,” he said. “Back at the lake, we were meant to fill the bucket and bring it with us.” He pointed to a pair of chubby stone cherubs who held a basket aloft near the doorway. I stood tiptoe to peer into the basket, and sure enough, it opened into a hole in the wall, inviting water to be poured in, like rain-spout gargoyles in reverse.
    We paced around the towers, searching for hidden mechanisms or any significance to the water-trough sculptures, but their function, if any, was inscrutable. At length we descended the stairway to the sixth step, but our failure to carry out another one of the Bold Deceiver’s tasks left Jackaby unsettled.
    I reassured him that if we met with difficulty, we could always head back to the towers and try again. The next destination on the map would not even require the use of a party cracker. We were headed for the castle keep.

* * *
The Keep
    Across a small stretch of unkempt, grassy grounds, which Jackaby informed me was the bailey, we found an entrance to the central structure. The keep was constructed of the same heavy stones as the curtain wall but seemed to have fallen into greater disrepair. Thick roofing tiles had tumbled from high above to litter the base of the building, and the foundation had settled unevenly over time, spreading some of the solid blocks apart in wide cracks.
    We reached the entrance, a thick door with a heavy iron lock. Jackaby did not need to withdraw the magpie ’ s key to see that it was no match—the lock was much too large. He stepped toward the door anyway. Though imposing, the wood had suffered insects and the elements for three hundred years, and with a liberal shove of his shoulder, the wood crumbled around the lock and the thick door swung open.
    The keep had no ground-level windows. A stairway wound up to the right, and a passageway curved off to the left. A trickle of light snuck clumsily down the stairs from the second floor, but the passageway on the left only darkened further as it rounded the corner. Torches had been fitted on the wall every seven or eight feet, but they hung unlit and dusty.
    “ I don’ t suppose you have any matches in one of your countless pockets, do you?” I asked.
    Jackaby ’s coat contained a straw doll,